


Power Down

by PlasticEyes



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, F/F, hey this is some depressing shit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-12
Updated: 2016-06-12
Packaged: 2018-07-14 16:28:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,502
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7180283
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PlasticEyes/pseuds/PlasticEyes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Am I dying?</p>
<p>That’s silly. Silly goose.</p>
<p>Angela would know. She always knows. </p>
<p>...<br/>(In which Pharah could really use a hug from Mercy.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Power Down

She was deceived.

By the very perceived device to have provided her with only the best of defense. Her backup, her offense, her resistance, her opposition. She was known to be invincible, mythical, a typical principle of the work in her art. Missile after projectile shot out, enemy after hostile defeated at her accountability. More than a captain, a legend. More than a legend –a _hero_.

So when her knees scraped a broken red against the grit and grate.

How her suit, crafted with only the most delicately skilled fingers to be found, pulling down weights at her bruised and bloodied form.

A distressed woman sleeking with the radiance of a sun itself, crying out to her in her dreams.

_“You’ll be careful right?”_

_“Who’re you kidding Angie? You’re talking to the –*douche pose* –“Winged Guardian” here~!”_

_She smiled, infectious as it proved while watching the other woman grin along. “Oh I know,” she scoffed, hitting playfully at the metal armor lightly. “Nothing can get through this, am I right?”_

_“Right you are habibti,” brushing away at her golden bangs and laying an everlasting touch of her lips against her head._

_She sighed, leaning in with and thunking her head against the cold metal of her armor. “I always miss you when you leave. Hurry back wont you?”_

_A genuine crinkle of a laugh._

_“Don’t stress. I’ll see you soon.”_

The archetype of the situation was almost something to laugh at.

Her mech wasn’t working. Plain and simply put. Something new in the enemies technology, hacking into every one of her and her soldiers suit’s functioning. She had felt it at once, the whizzing whir dying down to a deafening silence and at once dragging her down to the Earth’s surface. Tons and tons of metal weighing her down until she was smashed into a crisped crater, ruptures in her shoulders appendages to dislocations all around.

Fareeha was strong. Fareeha was brave. Fareeha was kind. Fareeha was valiant.

Fareeha was injured.

Fatigued and in _pain_.

She tore it off, piece by piece until her fingers were scraped and bloody. Ever block torn with a surge of wavering adrenaline, cracked and thrown to the ground. Her comrades were no doubt gone, dead or soon to be dead since they had all been much farther up in the air once the wave hit. A blue surge powering off all their machinery. She could only imagine the injuries connected with hitting the solid ground at their tumbling speed. Cracked spinal cords, shattered lungs --all painful and agonizing deaths to experience.

And yet she was alive, smart Fareeha. Resourceful Fareeha. Gasping for breaths and pain within every step Fareeha.

“’ello?” she’d wheeze out in random intervals into the abandoned fields, mind dizzying with a strange twinge. “Anyone there? Yoo-hooo?”

She’d sniff at her nose, shooing away the flies gathering around flesh and machines. Eerie silence besides the “pit pat” of her scuffling feet. Random thoughts occupying her mind of, _“Where is everyone anyway?”_ Squinting her eyes through the heated haze of the endless grounds and continuing on.

Walking and walkin’.

Listening to the groans of her comrades enduring a hurt of excruciating levels.

On and on and on and _on_.

...

…

…

It was Angela who found her.

Blissful at the sight of the luscious brunette hair she always caught herself idling with in the deep hours of the night. So thankful to a God she hardly believed in as her lips bubbled with laughter while her voice called out happily to the other woman’s sitting figure.

“I _knew_ it, I knew you were alright! Oh Fareeha they all told me it was no _use_ but I didn’t care! It was just one of those feelings and...”

But as she rounded the rock the other woman was leaning on, coming into full view on every aspect of her figure, her laughter all but died. Smile still apparent on her façade while her chest seemed to decompress and crack at the sight.

…

…

…

It’s a bit hard to think. Think think _think think think wink link tink sink pink –_

_Pink._

_Lips_ smothering a jumble of words along mine as a simmer of giggles erupted from her, shaking her form as she ducked her head and tucked it onto my chest. I like her, boy do I _like_ her. _Dodging_ that ethereal four lettered word even _des_ pite the res _pite_ within my mind when her lips began sucking a bliss along my collarbones.

Oh god how beautiful she is.

So perty.

“He he.”

The, “ _Pert_ iest.”

I wish I could see her now.

But no, instead I found a nice comfy spot to lean on. It was a rock. But a comfy rock where I leaned my aching back against and let my feet sprawl out. It was hot, and I was hot. Hot and a bit dizzy too.

I remember.

A bit of shit.

But I remember, _her_. Oh I _remember_ her. More than her lips because –god she’s just amazing isn’t she? She has wings, ya’ Allah suphanawhatalla she has _wings_. And how smooth and sweet her hands were, always twiddling an idle tune against the rough edged scars of my skin. Playing a sweet melody against a cracked and chipped disk, the light to the shadows of a scorching blaze.

I raised my hand and looked at it. Gross. Not anything like Angela’s. Bloodied and scathed and bruised.

I miss Angela.

She has pretty eyes.

I giggled, and I wasn’t really sure why too. There was no joke said, and no people around. Oop, minus the dead ones. Ha ha, that’s a little funny.

“Angeeella,” I called out, weakly apparently since my voice pretty much resembled something of a hoarse horse’s mating call. ( _Ha ha_ , why am I so _funny_?) “Yoo hooooo…”

No response which I discontentedly frowned to. I wished Angela would hurry up already and come and give me a hug. I’ve always loved her hugs. As typical as it stands, and as emblematic as it sounds, they were just utterly and absolutely the greatest things a girl could have. The amount of security felt from a soldier having been plagued with haunting scenes of a screaming child’s dying voice. Hearing the screams, waking up taking heed to a scream I don’t realize is coming from my own raw throat until her arms come around and just _calm_.

“ _Angela_ ,” and now I’m crying. Sobbing like the dead children done at my own hands, “too late” for the Justice to Rain from Above. “Angela _where are you?_ ”

I wish she’d give me a hug now.

Oh bother.

I leaned my head back onto the rocks surface, dizzy gosh dizzy because wow the sky was spinning into a mess of clouds bleeding an orange and red color of paradise.

_Am I dying?_

That’s silly. Silly goose.

Suffocating through this blinding pressure of pain against my chest, pushing harder and faster and deeper and with eye lids woozy, and head pounding an incessant ache to my neck. _I feel weird_ , clenching and unclenching sweaty fists subconsciously while my toes curled and uncurled through the dirt matted black socks. Something trickled onto my eyes and –she was _electric_ , _eccentric_ from her blue heat intensifying gaze to fingers trailing a simmering line along my spine. Breathes becoming unfathomable while something seemed to glaze a red hue across my sight.

Angela would know. She’s a medic. She always knows.

Everything, from the buttons that would make my back bend to her will while her name was spit from my soul, my mind, my spirit, my life, my _existence –why can’t she just be here right now?_ is what my reasoning hollered while judgment shushed at.

I felt my lips jut out, pouting at the unfairness of the world. First mama, now Angela. They always leave.

And then I sighed.

Breathing in.

And breathing out.

…

…

…

_There was blood seeping a sleek gleam of red all along her hair and traversing down across her eyes._

“Angela, we should start heading ba-”

“Get away! You get the _fuck_ away from her!” Her yell strong, but quickly deteriorates into a mess of shambles and hiccuped blubbering. “Oh god why didn’t I _come_ I knew I should’ve came with her. Why god _why_ she told me she’d-”

“Angela.”

“She told me-”

“Angela _please_.”

“Why would this- how could I have _not_ \--”

“Angela,” it was obvious Tracer was doing her best to keep it together. Failing evidently, her hair dropping down to cover her face and hand muffling her voice. “Let’s just go. _Please_.”

“But -,” she stopped herself, blinking in perplexion before grasping harder to the silk material of the dead woman’s clothing and cradling herself closer. Her head lowered onto her bitter cold torso as her body quietly broke. “Mom _said_ Lena,” she rasped out, shutting her eyes tight and clenching her grip into a white-knuckling clasp.

And when she finally looked up. Gaze shattered with a broken, un _spoken_ , _heartbroken_ single phrase.

_“_ Heroes _never die_.”

**Author's Note:**

> (Based off a post I saw from @auburnskies24. *whispers* I made it into a prompt because shit happens.)
> 
> plasticface.tumblr.com
> 
> . 3 .


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